[ he wants to snap at hawk for what's clearly a pity move, glaring at his now presumably safe whiskey and the iced water that joins it. hawk being right grates at his nerves, and he pushes his mother and the lake house from his mind, because spending any amount of time with his mother right now would be like swallowing glass, and morgan would be there with her own commentary, and lyr, his now-teenaged nephew that he actually loves would probably look at him with disgust even though embry has spent his entire life chasing his diapered butt around the halls of vivienne's mansion and being his favorite uncle.
jesus christ. erin needs a pregnancy test. his mouth grows dry at the sudden realization, his stomach dropping like the jet has done a nosedive. the whiskey goes down easily now when he picks up the glass, finishing it off in two swallows. how fucking ironic would it be if both of vivienne's children had babies under the worst circumstances?
he lurches to his feet, wrapping his fingers around the neck of the bottle to take a swig directly from the source. the drink soothes him, but he really wishes he had a goddamn ambien. ]
What, you got your beauty sleep during all those meetings they had you sit through today?
[ he gives hawk a sour look. he's already guessed what the details of this piss-poor plan might be, and he doesn't have the energy to pursue the thought right now. later, when they're in italy, after he's had proper tagliatelle and a bottle of red, he'll press for details and puncture holes in the plan. right now, all he does is pull off his belt and tie, leaving his shoes in the corner. ]
It's meant for two. [ he doesn't look at hawk as he hangs his blazer in the narrow closet space, the implications of his statement hanging like fruit ready to drop. that hawk could join him. that he and ash have done this before. that embry doesn't even know what the fuck he's saying. ] I don't care if you're in it.
[ it's the worst possible way to relay that he wants hawk to join him, but he shuts his mouth, leaving the rest of his clothes on because undressing right now feels more awkward than continuing to speak. he takes another swallow of whiskey, migrating the bottle to his bedside before throwing himself down onto the mattress with a groan. very intentionally, he only takes up one side.
in the dim lights, he watches hawk through his lashed gaze, somehow still functionally alert after the day they've had. his mind wanders to the times he used to be able to skim his hands over naked skin, keeping hawk's body firmly at the forefront of his thoughts lest the memories of the grainy video take over. ]
Have you been back to Italy? [ his voice is quiet, heavy with whiskey and exhaustion. ] Since you were shot?
You say that, but I've nearly mastered doing it with my eyes open.
[his own expression is perfectly - probably quite annoyingly - placid about this whole thing. but of course he's not, not really. he's fucking furious, though he's smart enough to know embry is going to want to lick his own wounds before he opens up if ever about what he's been through. there's a part of him that wonders if he's even accepted what it is that happened to him or if he's playing the game of denial just like he does every time ash glances his way. it's still a strange thing to feel like he wants to let him open up and spill his guts about everything, regardless of how or if it cuts hawk himself. months ago when he'd first walked in and realized this was a past fling, he would have headed straight for the door and insisted this kind of shit was above his paygrade.
and now?
now he smoothly pushes himself up and out of the chair after downing his own whiskey and casually takes his time loosening his tie on the way to the distinctive sleeping area that embry is sulking on one side of. it's easy reading between the lines now - come here, get in with me, even if it sounds more like a generic statement of fact. the strip of silk is tossed casually on one of the bolted down nightstands, hawk slipping off his own blazer and hanging it in the very same space across the bed on what is clearly now his side. then comes his belt too, shoes, and his shirt and undershirt, leaving his chest bare without the intention of letting his scar come into view again. it's funny how unthinking it is at times when it once was the center of his entire goddamn life - answering prying questions, trying to move past the trauma that had put it there.
it's a testament to his state of mostly recovered that he steps up to the bed, fingers running light against the top of the mattress as he gazes down at embry. even in his obvious exhaustion he manages to look achingly good - enough that hawk wishes whatever this unspoken schism between them might mend itself back together and let him have the privilege of barreling back towards whatever it was they were about to be. christ, he sounds like a fucking high schooler.
hawk sits at the edge first before kicking up his feet, crossing them at the ankles and resting a bent arm underneath his head like an extra pillow. his chin turns, enough that he can face embry halfway - letting him decide if he wants to meet him halfway or turn away all together.]
No.
[if he was feeling petty he might ask about prague. but he's not.]
But there's no hard feelings - I told you I wanted to retire there, didn't I? Besides, Velletri's a long way south. Practically a whole new world, or whatever the hell they sing about.
[it's your turn to recuperate, he almost says, knowing better. but his own voice dips into a quiet rumble, unable to keep the affection from seeping into it.]
Would you visit? If I park myself up in a nice villa, waterside, and pick up sailing in my old age?
[ he wants hawk in his bed. there's no other place he wants him to be, really, but once he's here, embry doesn't move, aware of the bare lines of his chest, how warm his skin would be if he touched him, how he's close enough to kiss. it would be so easy — and yet hawk has never felt so faraway, the space between them stretching like the jet itself has broken in two, one half barreling toward italy while embry stays behind, stuck in a sticky-sweet cage, suffocating. he feels like he's watching ash all over again, with his earnest plans to move out to the country and raise chickens and cows and horses with the right person who shares the same dream. someone with a pure, good, noble heart. someone who isn't him.
now there's hawk, retiring by the italian coast, escaping the misery of politics for sunny sailing and fucking on the beach. embry can't imagine leaving the city, can't imagine leaving politics, can't imagine a happy ending because everything he wants is nothing he can ever keep. eventually he won't be in office anymore, and hawk will move on, and ash already has, and embry will have no excuses to be around either of them. ]
Yeah, I'd visit. [ he has his face turned away, staring at some unidentifiable blank space on the far wall, his brow creased. ] Catch you up on everything you missed in DC. Morgan and I are lifers in this. I'm always gonna be better at sailing than you are though, so I'd probably have to fly over just to teach you anyway.
[ he turns his back to hawk, swiping his eyes against the sleek pillowcase as he yanks the sheets up to his chin. guilt churns in his belly alongside his anger — and everything else that's eating him up alive. ]
I want a brief when I wake up. [ his words feel like lead. ] I want an update on the public perception of the tape, whoever's they think it is. We're not going to ignore what's happening just because we're fleeing the country. Goodnight.
[ it doesn't take long for sleep to take him, considering how much whiskey he knocked back in such a short amount of time, but he dreams about carpathia for the time in years. he dreams about bullets, and dag dying slowly in his arms, how he'd begged for embry to tell his sister and how many times embry kept calling and calling even though he knew there was no signal that could reach her. he dreams about being carried on ash's back while flickering in and out of consciousness, certain of his death, every sense alight with pain.
he hears ash calling his name — no, not ash, the tone isn't quite right. he feels hands on him, and suddenly he's back in his bed, his limbs heavy with too much liquor or drugs or both, and he can't make his mouth say no. he should have just said no. how could he have missed a camera? how could he have missed an entire night of sex? he's frantic as he tries to get away, tangled up in a mess of sweaty sheets until he abruptly shudders awake, lurching upright, his eyes wide and his dark hair clinging to his temples. panic closes his throat, a muffled sound coming from somewhere in his chest as he shuts his eyes, trying to draw in a breath. ]
[it's not the first time hawk plans on disobeying a direct order, and it absolutely won't be the last. embry wants a brief, fine. he'll get one. at some point - but not the moment he wakes up. maybe lunch. maybe dinner. maybe six days from now when they've settled into the fineries lake como has to offer and have mended whatever fence is between them so it doesn't feel like he's sleeping next to a stranger with the knowledge that he wants to offer him comfort - to touch, to hold him in a way that's been wholly uncharacteristic for anyone besides tim laughlin in his life. maybe it'll be enough time for some other scandal to settle in and consume every headline and think piece across the globe. for the first time in a long time, he doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks about him anyway. he's more concerned for embry - protecting the shell that he knows is more brittle than the man's letting on.]
Sure thing. Goodnight, Embry.
[sleep doesn't come to him right away, because there's a sneaking concern that embry might not be able to fall asleep. even as his own eyelids sink down and try to pull shut in protestation, hawk waits sharp-eared for the soft lull of breathing evening out and the hum of the jet before he lets himself give in to his own mostly-earned slumber. and that should be it - a few hours, a couple time zone jumps, and they wake up to mimosas and a message from their pilot that italy awaits.
except of fucking course it's not.
embry's been through a trauma worse than any other, by someone he knew no less. hawk's upright within seconds of feeling rustling next to him, too light a sleeper and too unused to having a body occupy the space next to him for anything else. that and old habits die hard from his days in velletri - the need for quick response times between catching shut-eye at inopportune moments with varying degrees of discomfort. he's still exhausted, knowing it can't have been more than a few hours since they'd both slept before this sank in. he can hear embry's shaky breathing, the sounds of struggle between the sheets and and against the bed, and another wounded noise like he's trying to cry out and just can't.
hawk is up in an instant, fingers closing firm around his shoulders with one hand and feeling the damp seeping through his expensive dress shirt from where he was too tired to remove it. he rucks the sheets down, tugging them away from embry so he can feel less trapped before lifting his other hand back up to brush the hair away from his face and get him to open his eyes into awareness.]
Embry - Embry. It's Hawk - wake up.
Listen to me, you're safe.
[he's fully prepared for whatever happens - embry trying to wrench away, or coming to the startled realization that this was a nightmare. his voice is soft, gentle in its insistence to get him to open his eyes.]
[ it's not exactly common that he has nightmares. sure, after the war — they all did. but he had ash, in the sort of way he's always had, and the best therapists at his disposal if he ever went more than twice, and gin. he's always been the sort of man to laugh to keep the darkness at bay, because being serious about his problems would honestly fucking kill him, so he'd told himself that misery is nothing that can't be fucked away. and for all these years, it's worked.
but, ironically, he can't fuck this away. there are several hazy moments that he thinks it's ash in his bed, holding firm to his shoulder, and embry shakes his head, almost breaking into laughter at the thought that after all these years, he's never, ever chosen a safe word. ]
No. I'm not doing this with you. I'm not fucking playing this game with you.
[ but his voice hasn't been right from the start. all of a sudden hawk's familiar scent comes to him, warm leather and smoke, and his eyes snap open at the brush of his fingers against the sweat at his temples. his gaze tilts and sharpens with realization, hawk's shadowed silhouette coming into focus, his perfectly coiffed hair undone in dark waves, the lines of his muscled torso etched like a painting in the darkness. embry, on the other hand, feels like he's woken up on the floor of a bar, and his mouth tastes like he's been licking it.
he runs a hand quickly over his face, his breath heavy in the quiet, the sound of the jet's engine grounding him. in truth, it's hawk's presence that does that — hawk's presence that he's missed since he lost it. since he'd driven ash like a wedge between them for no reason at all, since ash isn't the one he lies awake thinking about at night. he misses ash like an old, painful thorn in his side — hard to explain when there aren't words for how badly embry needed what ash gave him. but it's been fifteen years since he first looked into ash's eyes, and embry isn't the same hot-headed soldier chasing death that he was at twenty-one when they met. the destructive little prince still lives inside of him, but it'd taken all of one look at hawk to realize this was a man who would relish putting him in his place.
and for the first time in years, embry wanted to know more. he'd been well on his way — he'd danced with hawk, kissed and fucked him, listened to him grieve, waited on his goddamn doorstep willingly because hawk is an asshole who never gave him a key. and then he fucked it up. he'd watched hawk's eyes shutter, every open part of him slam shut in the face of embry's selfishness. and embry hasn't fixed it, because — why bother when he knows he's just going to ruin it all over again? ]
I'm fine.
[ his eyes have been pathetically glued to hawk this entire time, and he finally looks away, blinking hard as if he can shake away the impression of his figure. it would be so much easier if he could just lean over and kiss him, if he could fall back into old bad habits of forgetting, but he can't. everything's too fucked up between them — and everything's too fucked up inside of him, besides. ]
Go back to sleep.
[ embry eases back down, slouching against the padded wall as he pulls his pillow up behind him, knowing he won't get any more sleep tonight. he reaches for his phone, finally turning it back on, only for the screen to light up with dozens of notifications scrolling down endlessly that he's missed in the hours he's been offline. he scrubs a hand through his hair, his face lit a hazy blue as he stares at the newsflashes, emails, twitter alerts, texts messages, and goddamn smoke signals reflecting back at him. ]
I'm sorry I woke you. Can't remember what I was dreaming about. [ it's such an egregious lie that embry looks at hawk for a moment, his brow tense. ] Just don't, okay? We land in less than two hours. You can spend that time sleeping or jerking off or reading the goddamn Constitution for all I care, just don't point out the fucking obvious.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
jesus christ. erin needs a pregnancy test. his mouth grows dry at the sudden realization, his stomach dropping like the jet has done a nosedive. the whiskey goes down easily now when he picks up the glass, finishing it off in two swallows. how fucking ironic would it be if both of vivienne's children had babies under the worst circumstances?
he lurches to his feet, wrapping his fingers around the neck of the bottle to take a swig directly from the source. the drink soothes him, but he really wishes he had a goddamn ambien. ]
What, you got your beauty sleep during all those meetings they had you sit through today?
[ he gives hawk a sour look. he's already guessed what the details of this piss-poor plan might be, and he doesn't have the energy to pursue the thought right now. later, when they're in italy, after he's had proper tagliatelle and a bottle of red, he'll press for details and puncture holes in the plan. right now, all he does is pull off his belt and tie, leaving his shoes in the corner. ]
It's meant for two. [ he doesn't look at hawk as he hangs his blazer in the narrow closet space, the implications of his statement hanging like fruit ready to drop. that hawk could join him. that he and ash have done this before. that embry doesn't even know what the fuck he's saying. ] I don't care if you're in it.
[ it's the worst possible way to relay that he wants hawk to join him, but he shuts his mouth, leaving the rest of his clothes on because undressing right now feels more awkward than continuing to speak. he takes another swallow of whiskey, migrating the bottle to his bedside before throwing himself down onto the mattress with a groan. very intentionally, he only takes up one side.
in the dim lights, he watches hawk through his lashed gaze, somehow still functionally alert after the day they've had. his mind wanders to the times he used to be able to skim his hands over naked skin, keeping hawk's body firmly at the forefront of his thoughts lest the memories of the grainy video take over. ]
Have you been back to Italy? [ his voice is quiet, heavy with whiskey and exhaustion. ] Since you were shot?
no subject
[his own expression is perfectly - probably quite annoyingly - placid about this whole thing. but of course he's not, not really. he's fucking furious, though he's smart enough to know embry is going to want to lick his own wounds before he opens up if ever about what he's been through. there's a part of him that wonders if he's even accepted what it is that happened to him or if he's playing the game of denial just like he does every time ash glances his way. it's still a strange thing to feel like he wants to let him open up and spill his guts about everything, regardless of how or if it cuts hawk himself. months ago when he'd first walked in and realized this was a past fling, he would have headed straight for the door and insisted this kind of shit was above his paygrade.
and now?
now he smoothly pushes himself up and out of the chair after downing his own whiskey and casually takes his time loosening his tie on the way to the distinctive sleeping area that embry is sulking on one side of. it's easy reading between the lines now - come here, get in with me, even if it sounds more like a generic statement of fact. the strip of silk is tossed casually on one of the bolted down nightstands, hawk slipping off his own blazer and hanging it in the very same space across the bed on what is clearly now his side. then comes his belt too, shoes, and his shirt and undershirt, leaving his chest bare without the intention of letting his scar come into view again. it's funny how unthinking it is at times when it once was the center of his entire goddamn life - answering prying questions, trying to move past the trauma that had put it there.
it's a testament to his state of mostly recovered that he steps up to the bed, fingers running light against the top of the mattress as he gazes down at embry. even in his obvious exhaustion he manages to look achingly good - enough that hawk wishes whatever this unspoken schism between them might mend itself back together and let him have the privilege of barreling back towards whatever it was they were about to be. christ, he sounds like a fucking high schooler.
hawk sits at the edge first before kicking up his feet, crossing them at the ankles and resting a bent arm underneath his head like an extra pillow. his chin turns, enough that he can face embry halfway - letting him decide if he wants to meet him halfway or turn away all together.]
No.
[if he was feeling petty he might ask about prague. but he's not.]
But there's no hard feelings - I told you I wanted to retire there, didn't I? Besides, Velletri's a long way south. Practically a whole new world, or whatever the hell they sing about.
[it's your turn to recuperate, he almost says, knowing better. but his own voice dips into a quiet rumble, unable to keep the affection from seeping into it.]
Would you visit? If I park myself up in a nice villa, waterside, and pick up sailing in my old age?
no subject
now there's hawk, retiring by the italian coast, escaping the misery of politics for sunny sailing and fucking on the beach. embry can't imagine leaving the city, can't imagine leaving politics, can't imagine a happy ending because everything he wants is nothing he can ever keep. eventually he won't be in office anymore, and hawk will move on, and ash already has, and embry will have no excuses to be around either of them. ]
Yeah, I'd visit. [ he has his face turned away, staring at some unidentifiable blank space on the far wall, his brow creased. ] Catch you up on everything you missed in DC. Morgan and I are lifers in this. I'm always gonna be better at sailing than you are though, so I'd probably have to fly over just to teach you anyway.
[ he turns his back to hawk, swiping his eyes against the sleek pillowcase as he yanks the sheets up to his chin. guilt churns in his belly alongside his anger — and everything else that's eating him up alive. ]
I want a brief when I wake up. [ his words feel like lead. ] I want an update on the public perception of the tape, whoever's they think it is. We're not going to ignore what's happening just because we're fleeing the country. Goodnight.
[ it doesn't take long for sleep to take him, considering how much whiskey he knocked back in such a short amount of time, but he dreams about carpathia for the time in years. he dreams about bullets, and dag dying slowly in his arms, how he'd begged for embry to tell his sister and how many times embry kept calling and calling even though he knew there was no signal that could reach her. he dreams about being carried on ash's back while flickering in and out of consciousness, certain of his death, every sense alight with pain.
he hears ash calling his name — no, not ash, the tone isn't quite right. he feels hands on him, and suddenly he's back in his bed, his limbs heavy with too much liquor or drugs or both, and he can't make his mouth say no. he should have just said no. how could he have missed a camera? how could he have missed an entire night of sex? he's frantic as he tries to get away, tangled up in a mess of sweaty sheets until he abruptly shudders awake, lurching upright, his eyes wide and his dark hair clinging to his temples. panic closes his throat, a muffled sound coming from somewhere in his chest as he shuts his eyes, trying to draw in a breath. ]
no subject
Sure thing. Goodnight, Embry.
[sleep doesn't come to him right away, because there's a sneaking concern that embry might not be able to fall asleep. even as his own eyelids sink down and try to pull shut in protestation, hawk waits sharp-eared for the soft lull of breathing evening out and the hum of the jet before he lets himself give in to his own mostly-earned slumber. and that should be it - a few hours, a couple time zone jumps, and they wake up to mimosas and a message from their pilot that italy awaits.
except of fucking course it's not.
embry's been through a trauma worse than any other, by someone he knew no less. hawk's upright within seconds of feeling rustling next to him, too light a sleeper and too unused to having a body occupy the space next to him for anything else. that and old habits die hard from his days in velletri - the need for quick response times between catching shut-eye at inopportune moments with varying degrees of discomfort. he's still exhausted, knowing it can't have been more than a few hours since they'd both slept before this sank in. he can hear embry's shaky breathing, the sounds of struggle between the sheets and and against the bed, and another wounded noise like he's trying to cry out and just can't.
hawk is up in an instant, fingers closing firm around his shoulders with one hand and feeling the damp seeping through his expensive dress shirt from where he was too tired to remove it. he rucks the sheets down, tugging them away from embry so he can feel less trapped before lifting his other hand back up to brush the hair away from his face and get him to open his eyes into awareness.]
Embry - Embry. It's Hawk - wake up.
Listen to me, you're safe.
[he's fully prepared for whatever happens - embry trying to wrench away, or coming to the startled realization that this was a nightmare. his voice is soft, gentle in its insistence to get him to open his eyes.]
I'm here.
[and he's not fucking going anywhere else.]
no subject
but, ironically, he can't fuck this away. there are several hazy moments that he thinks it's ash in his bed, holding firm to his shoulder, and embry shakes his head, almost breaking into laughter at the thought that after all these years, he's never, ever chosen a safe word. ]
No. I'm not doing this with you. I'm not fucking playing this game with you.
[ but his voice hasn't been right from the start. all of a sudden hawk's familiar scent comes to him, warm leather and smoke, and his eyes snap open at the brush of his fingers against the sweat at his temples. his gaze tilts and sharpens with realization, hawk's shadowed silhouette coming into focus, his perfectly coiffed hair undone in dark waves, the lines of his muscled torso etched like a painting in the darkness. embry, on the other hand, feels like he's woken up on the floor of a bar, and his mouth tastes like he's been licking it.
he runs a hand quickly over his face, his breath heavy in the quiet, the sound of the jet's engine grounding him. in truth, it's hawk's presence that does that — hawk's presence that he's missed since he lost it. since he'd driven ash like a wedge between them for no reason at all, since ash isn't the one he lies awake thinking about at night. he misses ash like an old, painful thorn in his side — hard to explain when there aren't words for how badly embry needed what ash gave him. but it's been fifteen years since he first looked into ash's eyes, and embry isn't the same hot-headed soldier chasing death that he was at twenty-one when they met. the destructive little prince still lives inside of him, but it'd taken all of one look at hawk to realize this was a man who would relish putting him in his place.
and for the first time in years, embry wanted to know more. he'd been well on his way — he'd danced with hawk, kissed and fucked him, listened to him grieve, waited on his goddamn doorstep willingly because hawk is an asshole who never gave him a key. and then he fucked it up. he'd watched hawk's eyes shutter, every open part of him slam shut in the face of embry's selfishness. and embry hasn't fixed it, because — why bother when he knows he's just going to ruin it all over again? ]
I'm fine.
[ his eyes have been pathetically glued to hawk this entire time, and he finally looks away, blinking hard as if he can shake away the impression of his figure. it would be so much easier if he could just lean over and kiss him, if he could fall back into old bad habits of forgetting, but he can't. everything's too fucked up between them — and everything's too fucked up inside of him, besides. ]
Go back to sleep.
[ embry eases back down, slouching against the padded wall as he pulls his pillow up behind him, knowing he won't get any more sleep tonight. he reaches for his phone, finally turning it back on, only for the screen to light up with dozens of notifications scrolling down endlessly that he's missed in the hours he's been offline. he scrubs a hand through his hair, his face lit a hazy blue as he stares at the newsflashes, emails, twitter alerts, texts messages, and goddamn smoke signals reflecting back at him. ]
I'm sorry I woke you. Can't remember what I was dreaming about. [ it's such an egregious lie that embry looks at hawk for a moment, his brow tense. ] Just don't, okay? We land in less than two hours. You can spend that time sleeping or jerking off or reading the goddamn Constitution for all I care, just don't point out the fucking obvious.